


Abet

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Collars, M/M, Mild Master/Pet, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Connor has an idea to make Hank like him more.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	Abet

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s disturbing how _normal_ it’s become, Connor sidling up to the side of his desk with that stiff walk and blank expression, even though Hank could _swear_ he sometimes sees _warmth_ flicker behind those brown eyes. It has to be his imagination. But he used to be a good cop. He used to notice things out of the ordinary. He shouldn’t notice the slight rim of black under Connor’s white collar on a Tuesday afternoon, but he does. He glances over at his ‘partner’ and scrutinizes the difference. 

Connor has to be wearing a turtleneck under his usual suit. An unusually leathery turtleneck. Which doesn’t make any sense, and Connor’s supposed to be all about sense. So Hank stops his boring data entry and barks out, “What the hell are you wearing?”

“A suit, Lieutenant,” Connor smoothly answers. Hank could punch him for it.

“I meant _under_ the suit, smartass.”

Connor lifts a brow and informs him, “Under this suit, I’m naked.”

If a human said that, it’d be flirting. Connor’s _not human_ , but Hank can feel his cheeks heat anyway. Sometimes Connor’s got too much personality for his own good, even though Hank would be pissed if Cyberlife took that personality away. When Hank just sort of glares at him, Connor finally surrenders the information. His pink lips are _almost_ drawn up in a smile. “I am wearing a dog collar.”

Hank practically chokes. “Excuse me?”

“You have referred to me as your poodle before. As you seem to like dogs far more than androids, I thought that, perhaps, you would find it more agreeable to think of me as your pet. To facilitate our partnership, of course.” _Of course._ It’s amazing how he can say that like it’s justified, like it’s perfectly obvious and completely logical for Hank to pretend his sentient partner’s a _dog_.

It suddenly occurs to Hank to glance around the wide-open space and make sure no one’s around to witness this nonsense. Only Reed’s at his desk, but he’s staunchly ignoring them. Hank lowers his voice anyway when he leans forward and hisses, “I didn’t say you were _my_ poodle!”

Connor lifts a brow again and asks, “Would you like me to be?”

There’s a brief second where several not entirely unwanted images flash through Hank’s brain. He pictures Connor down on all fours, buck naked save for a thick collar, snuggling with Sumo by the fire. As a game, of course. A mutual game with a willing partner. Not an actual _dog_ -dog. Before the fantasy can get out of hand, Hank snaps, “Of course not! You look ridiculous!”

Connor frowns. Hank drives home, “Take it off.” And then he blushes hotter when he realizes how that could be taken. He’s absolutely not ordering Connor to strip at the office. He wouldn’t even do that at home. 

He half expects Connor to argue. For an android, Connor’s remarkably difficult. But he doesn’t. He reaches up to loosen his tie and draws the collar of his shirt down enough to unfasten the metal clasp that ties the animal collar around his slender throat. Then he pulls it away and holds it in his hand, asking with just the slightest hint of disappointment, “Shall I dispose of it?”

Hank opens his mouth. He _should_ say yes. But there’s something in Connor’s should-be-dead eyes that holds him back. He’s going to hell in a hand basket. 

He swallows and mutters, “No, just... save it for later.”

Connor _grins_. Hank doesn’t pursue it. He’s already going down the wrong road for work. He might get drunk on the job, but he certainly doesn’t get _hard_ on the job. He’s not about to change that for an irritatingly enticing android. 

Connor obediently tucks the collar into his pocket and finally asks, “So. What case should we engage today?”


End file.
